Revival
by Strawberry Shortcake123
Summary: "I cannot shield her from everything. This is not a bruise that I can kiss and make better." Tony and Ziva struggle to handle their daughter's heartbreak. Companion to Family for Observation; can stand alone.
1. Part One

**This will be a two or three parter, not sure yet.**

**Uses my Tiva baby from my drabble series, Family for Observation… this takes place after the drabbles Over and Faith. You'll probably understand what's going on even if you haven't read those.**

**Next chapter will be more Azalea-centric.**

**Written because Sophie begged me.**

**Enjoy!**

Ziva was coming down the hall with a basket of unfolded laundry when she heard the familiar, lighthearted song that really shouldn't have made her heart drop the way it did. She abruptly changed direction and entered the living room. As she expected, eight-year-old Azalea was on the TV screen, performing her first ballet solo.

Teenaged Azalea reclined on the couch, her ankle and its cast propped up on a pillow.

"Aza," Ziva sighed, putting down her basket. She leaned over the arm of the couch and rested her hand on one of her daughter's knees. Azalea refused to look away from the younger version of herself. "Sweetheart."

With a loud exhale, Azalea mumbled, "What."

"Why don't you turn this off and help me fold these clothes? You will still be able to sit down."

"No thanks."

Her hair was a mess and her skin was paler than usual. Her eyes, normally bright and a tad mischievous, were now empty. She was a shell of her former self. She only spoke when spoken to and she only ate when forced. Tony and Ziva originally thought that all she needed was time, but it had now been a week since Azalea was released from the hospital, and, if anything, she had only gotten worse.

For the first time in the seventeen years they'd been parents, they had absolutely no idea what to do.

Ziva grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned off the TV. She expected a protest, but got none. Instead, Azalea's chin quivered. Guilt surged through Ziva.

"Don't cry," she said, hurrying to the edge of the couch and palming her daughter's cheek. "No, no, Azalea-"

"Leave me alone," Azalea choked out. She pulled a throw pillow over her face to muffle the loud, ugly sob that escaped her lips.

Ziva stood there for several seconds. In the end, however, she could not keep her own tears at bay. She grabbed her laundry basket and left, nearly running into the doorframe because of her own blurred vision.

0000000000

She knew when Tony got home because she heard the front door open and his overly cheerful voice asking, "How's my girl?" His conversation with Azalea was short-lived, of course. Soon, his footsteps were headed toward their room, where Ziva had been curled up on the bed for a good half hour.

He stepped inside and seemed to sense that all was not well, because he greeted her softly. "Hey."

"Hey."

As he sank onto the edge of the bed, his fingers slid into her hair. Her eyelids drifted shut. "Tough day?" Tony questioned.

Ziva hummed in the affirmative. For a few seconds, they were both silent as he massaged her scalp. Then she turned onto her back so she could look directly into his face. His hand cradled the side of her head. "She mostly slept, but I walked in a while ago and… and she was watching that tape again."

He sighed. The worry lines on his forehead had become very prominent since the day he and Ziva saw Azalea collapse onstage. "Damn."

"Maybe we should just… take it away."

"No." Tony shook his head. "She's grieving. We need to let her do that."

"You cannot tell me that this is _healthy_."

The words came out sharper than she had intended, but he did not appear bothered. Living with two David women for so long had more or less desensitized him to confrontational tones. "She's lost her future, Ziva. We gotta let her deal with it in her own way."

Ziva threw her hands up in frustration. "For how long, though? At one point do we say, _enough is enough_?"

He pursed his lips. "I don't know," he replied honestly, and motioned for her to scoot over. Once she had made room, he stretched out on his side next to her. It took all of two seconds for their limbs to become entangled, for her head to find its rightful place on his chest.

Tony had been her best friend, her protector, and her comforter for over half her life now. Tonight, he was exactly what she needed.

She melted into his arms.

And everything instantly became a little bit better.

0000000000

The doorbell rang at a quarter past seven, as usual.

Tony and Ziva were still loitering in the kitchen after their dinner of leftovers. As soon as the chime echoed through the house, they looked at each other.

"I answered yesterday," he said quickly. "Your turn."

She narrowed her eyes. "Since when are we taking turns?"

With a shrug, Tony replied, "Since now."

Ziva heaved a defeated sigh and started down the hall. She paused as she reached the living room. Even though she already knew the answer, she called, "Azalea, do you want to see him?"

There was not a single moment of hesitation. "No."

She proceeded to the front door and, after a quick glance through the peephole, pulled it open. Standing on the porch was Azalea's boyfriend, who was also the most persistent person Ziva had ever met in her life. Since the accident, he had sent Azalea a text every morning (it always went unanswered), and he showed up every evening to see if she is ready to talk to him yet.

Honestly, it was sweet. _Very_ sweet. But also exhausting.

"Hi, Mrs. DiNozzo," Javi said with a smile. "How's it goin'?"

"Fine, thank you," she told him. "I'm afraid Azalea is not up for company tonight, though."

Even as he chuckled, Ziva didn't miss the hurt that crossed his face for a split second. "Yeah. Figured as much." But he didn't leave. Even though Azalea had turned him away time and time again, he always stayed to ask about her well-being. "How's her pain?"

"Better. She is not taking as much of the pain medication."

"Good." Javi swallowed hard and stuffed his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. "Um, okay. I should go. Would you tell her I came by?"

This was always his parting question.

"Of course." Ziva stepped back into the house. "Have a good night."

"You, too."

She shut the door and, after a second of deliberation, went into the living room. The TV was off. Azalea had her hands folded over her stomach as she stared at the ceiling.

"I spent a long, _long_ time pushing your father away," Ziva announced without preamble. "And I regret it. Even now. I regret it because I hurt somebody who cared about me. He cared about me enough to keep trying, no matter how many times I shut him out."

Azalea released a long breath.

"When Javier comes by tomorrow, I want you to see him."

Silence stretched between them before Ziva prompted, "Azalea."

"Fine."

She inhaled, nodded, and leaned over to kiss her daughter's forehead. "I'm just worried for you."

As Azalea blinked quickly, her long eyelashes brushed Ziva's cheek. "I know."

0000000000

Twenty-four hours later, Ziva opened the front door wide and told Javi, "You can come in."

His eyes widened in surprise before the corners of his mouth turned up and he practically bounded into the house. Ziva hoped with everything she had that Azalea would at least be civil to him- that this visit would not be an utter disaster.

She strategically placed herself so that her figure was mostly obscured by the doorframe but she was still able to see into the living room, and she watched as Javi circled cautiously to the front of the couch. He tentatively ran a hand over Azalea's hair. When he received no response, positive or negative, he gingerly lowered himself to sit on the edge of the coffee table. "Hey, Zale," he greeted so quietly that Ziva almost didn't hear him.

"What're you doing?"

She jumped and turned to find Tony standing behind her, brow furrowed. "Shh," she hissed.

"Did you actually let him in?"

"Yes." Ziva returned her attention to the scene in the living room. Javi's lips were moving, but she was unable to make out his words. "Shhh," she told her husband again.

His large hands closed over her hips, holding her steady as he peeked over her shoulder. Nothing happened for a minute or so until Javi grabbed one of Azalea's hands and lifted it to his lips.

Suddenly, the moment felt very intimate, too intimate, like something she shouldn't be spying on. "Let's leave them to talk," she said, wriggling free of Tony's grasp and starting toward the kitchen. Once there, she grabbed a dirty dish from the soapy water and began to scrub it. He leaned against the counter beside her, his eyes burning into the side of her skull. She could only take so much of his staring.

"What?" she snapped, plunking down the newly cleaned plate.

"Are you okay?"

Ziva paused in picking up her sponge. Tony waited.

"No," she admitted finally. "No."

He grasped her hand and pulled her into him. She went willingly, flattening her palms against his back, burying her face in the crook of his neck. His scent surrounded her. Enveloped her.

"I cannot shield her from everything," Ziva murmured. "This is not a bruise that I can kiss and make better."

"No, it's not."

"But I want to fix it for her, Tony. And I can't. I'm her _mother_, and I've turned her boyfriend loose in there because _I_ couldn't get through to her."

"That doesn't say anything about you as a mother," he said, rubbing her forearms. "She's almost an adult. Hell, if this were, you know, 1583, _she'd_ already be a mother."

Ziva, despite her angst, found it within herself to sock him in the stomach. "Don't say things like that."

"Sorry. But my point is-"

That's when a giggle carried into the kitchen, causing them both to freeze. Azalea had not so much as cracked a smile all week, but that was, undoubtedly, the sound of her laughter. Ziva strained her ears. No other sounds, joyous or otherwise, came.

But that did not change what she had already heard. It did not stop the coil of tension in her stomach from loosening just a bit.

"She's okay," Tony said, embracing Ziva once more. He kissed the top of her shoulder twice. "Did you hear that? She's okay. She's gonna be okay."


	2. Part Two

**I see it's been a month and a half since I updated this. *sheepish* Oops.**

**But, as I have continually reassured Sophie, I haven't abandoned it. I just work a lot and have writer's block a lot and get distracted by jigsaw puzzles… a lot. Anyway. Here's part two (of three)! Carry on!**

She only agreed to see Javi because her mother 'suggested' it in a manner that left no room for argument, but Azalea ended up being glad that she did. In her depressed state, she had forgotten how being around him made her feel lighter, how he could make her stomach flutter just by touching her. He understood her; he understood that by sitting next to her and holding her hand and regaling her with amusing stories about what she had missed at school, he was helping.

And, honestly, his determination to be there for her was flattering.

When Javi paused for breath, Azalea settled their laced fingers on her stomach and said her two least favorite words in the world, words she was usually too proud to utter. "I'm sorry."

He raised his eyebrows. "For what?"

"Avoiding you. Making my parents send you away every time you came over. I didn't mean to be a bitch."

"Hey," he said firmly, "you're not a bitch. You're hurt." He squeezed her hand. "Tell me what I can do, Zale."

The tears welled up for the thousandth time since her own body betrayed her. By now, the sensation of burning behind her eyes had grown familiar. "Nothing. There's nothing I can do, or you, or my parents. It's over."

Javi sighed and brushed her hair out of her face with his free hand. Briefly, she worried about how greasy it must be, since she hadn't been able to take a shower and had declined all of her mother's offers to wash her hair in the kitchen sink. But then she forgot about it; he wouldn't notice. Not when he was staring at her like that, concerned and tender and affectionate. "Dance is," he said gently, "but you aren't."

She made a frustrated noise. "That's the problem, Javi. I don't remember a time when I wasn't dancing. Who _am_ I without it?"

"You tell me."

Azalea delved within herself, desperately searching for something to cling to, anything. Something she could build a life upon.

"I don't know," she admitted finally. "I don't know."

0000000000

They found a marathon of sitcom reruns on TV, and Javi stayed to watch with her until the pull of sleep became too strong and she succumbed to it. She was vaguely aware of a light touch on her cheek and a whispered "Love ya", but she was too tired to form words of her own.

When Azalea awakened next, it was to a shining sun and the sound of a morning talk show coming from the kitchen. She rubbed her eyes with one hand and braced the other on the back of the couch in order to sit up. "Mom?" Her voice cracked; she cleared her throat. "Mom?" she called again, more loudly this time.

"Yes?"

"I'm hungry."

There was no reply; a moment later, her mother entered the living room, a spatula in hand. "Blueberry pancakes will be ready in two minutes."

Azalea smiled. "Yum."

"How is your foot?"

She shifted her leg experimentally. "Same."

"Do you need any pain medication?"

"Not yet."

"How did it go with Javi last night?"

This question, Azalea did not quickly rattle off a response to. She recalled the previous night's hours of comfortable silence and the guilt she felt over how unwaveringly devoted he had been to her, despite the way she acted toward him. "Fine."

Both of her mother's eyebrows rose. "Fine?"

"Yes, Mom," Azalea sighed. "Fine. It was fine." She did not know how to describe it beyond that one noncommittal syllable; she was so confused about everything. Even more so than before.

The buzzing of the kitchen timer saved her from further questioning. Her mom went to turn it off, and Azalea started to get up and follow before remembering that she couldn't go anywhere without help.

Her shoulders slumped. And she remained where she was.

0000000000

Javi returned that night, this time bearing chocolate chip ice cream (her favorite) and a rented copy of _The Great Gatsby _(which was the most touching thing of all, considering all he did was complain when she made him watch it the first time). Her mom steered clear of the living room and her dad mostly did, though he apparently could not resist coming in a couple of times to remark on how unjust it was that Leonardo DiCaprio had never won an Oscar.

After the movie, they found another marathon of another mindless TV show. Both of Azalea's parents went up to bed. As she heard the door to their room close, she glanced down at Javi. He sat on the floor in front of the couch, knees bent upward, their entwined fingers resting on one. His gaze remained leveled at the TV; he did not feel her looking at him.

"Javi?"

Her utterance caused him to turn around. "Huh?"

She looked at him and wondered, not for the first time, how she had ended up with this gem of a boy. He was so different from Jayden, who broke her heart a few years prior. So different from the disgusting guys who roamed the halls of her high school, who bragged about their sexual conquests as if the girls they slept with were nothing but objects put on earth for their pleasure. Javi was not like that. Javi had never treated her with anything but respect.

Dance was no longer a part of her future. But she sincerely hoped that Javi would be.

"What's wrong?" he asked, shifting his whole body toward her and reaching up to move her hair off her shoulder. She was suddenly glad that she had finally allowed her mom to wash it that afternoon.

At a loss for words, she sat up, reached out, and wrapped her arms around him. He held her close. The greatest comfort she'd had in days was the warmth of his body, the strength of his embrace. Azalea turned her face into his neck as tears began to slide down her cheeks.

"Zale," he prompted softly. "What is it?"

The TV was still on, but it was just background noise now. She sighed and told him the truth. It was nothing he hadn't heard before, but tonight, his understanding was a thousand times more important.

"I love you," Azalea said.

Javi drew back to look at her. "That all?"

A little embarrassed to be making tearful confessions of love- how _sappy_- she nodded curtly and returned her arms to her lap.

He kissed the corner of her mouth. "Then I love you, too."

That night, just like the previous one, she fell asleep with him at her side and the weight of his palm in hers.

0000000000

"I haven't seen you watch your dance solo for a few days."

Azalea glanced up from the textbook she was reading (or attempting to- her eyelids kept drifting shut). Her father stood next to the couch. She hadn't heard him come in. It took her mind a couple seconds to recall what he had said; once she registered it, she averted her gaze and shrugged in response.

"Did your mom take it?" he asked suspiciously.

At this, she looked up. "No."

And that was true. The DVD sat where it always had, on a shelf with the other videos of her performances. By no means was she done mourning her dance career; she could pop that thing in, play it all evening, and end up just as defeated and hopeless as she was when she first woke up in the hospital. But she would not do it. Not today, anyway. She had made the conscious decision to focus on other things.

Like "The General History of Virginia", a snoozer of a narrative.

It wasn't her first choice, but, for the moment, it was all she had.

Smoothing a hand over her head, her dad said, "You do seem better."

"I am. Kinda."

"Feel up for going out to dinner tonight? Mom's working late, and we all know you aren't getting anything edible out of me. You've gotta be getting antsy, sitting around the house all day. I'm sure we can wrangle that cast of yours into the car."

Azalea considered his offer. It was true that she hadn't been out in weeks, but she was still largely immobile, and the mere thought of going anywhere exhausted her. "Can we order pizza instead?"

"That's fine. Pepperoni, right?"

"Always."

By the time it arrived, she had finished her homework for the night and had redirected her attention to the ceiling above her. She fingered her necklace absentmindedly as she listened to her dad moving around in the kitchen, pulling down plates and opening up the pizza box. He entered the living room with a flourish a minute later, two plates in hand. One of them went in her lap. "For the lady."

"Thanks."

He sat down in the armchair perpendicular to the couch and sank his teeth into a slice. Azalea started to pick hers up but stopped as a crushing realization came from nowhere, hurtling at her full-force, nearly knocking her over with the weight of its truth. "Daddy?"

"Yeah."

"I don't… I don't even know what I like to _do_."

He regarded her thoughtfully while he chewed his pizza. For the first time in several days, Azalea felt her eyes well up. She grabbed a nearby throw pillow and clutched it to her chest as if it were her lifeline.

She had known how wrapped up in dance she was, of course. But at what point had it become the sole focus of her life?

Her father swallowed and cleared his throat. "Well," he said, "we haven't been able to do this in a few years, not since you started having rehearsal pretty much every day… but, if memory serves me right, you and I used to make pretty good movie-watching buddies."

He raised his eyebrows at her, and Azalea felt her face relax into a relieved smile.

Yes, _yes, _thank God there was something else. Something else that had been a constant for her entire life; something else she could immerse herself in, if only temporarily.

And maybe there were more things like this buried beneath the surface- things forgotten or yet to be discovered. Maybe there was more to know about herself than she had imagined.

"Do you have time to watch one now?" she asked her father.

"Hey," he said, mock-offended. "I've always got time for my girl."

Azalea took her first bite of pizza as he went to the DVD shelf. They ended up choosing _Mr. and Mrs. Smith_. She lay on the couch in the company of her dad with her cell phone balanced on her stomach so she could reply to Javi's texts, and she found herself having fun.

It wasn't much.

But it was a start.


End file.
